Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(28)
Author: Brenda Novak

“I know of at least one man who’s gone missing.”

She studied him for a moment. “Take it if you don’t think it’s safe to leave it there. You’ll need a key of your own while you’re here, anyway.”

“I’ll do that.” Hunter put his laptop on the desk beneath the room’s only window, leaned his guitar case against the wall and fell back on the tall, four-poster bed. He’d be comfortable here, he decided. Madeline’s guesthouse reminded him of a cottage hidden in the backwoods. Maybe it wasn’t Hawaii, but it wasn’t L.A., either. And for that he was surprisingly glad. He was finding it more and more difficult to lead the barren life he’d been living after the divorce, especially when he stayed in that empty house where nothing moved but him.

“There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom drawer, and there’s soap, shampoo and conditioner in the shower.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a tired smile. “I’m sorry about the way I acted at the airport. I should’ve been more polite.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He should’ve been more polite himself.

She paused at the door. “Do you think there’s any chance I’ll ever know what happened?” she asked earnestly.

“Yes.” He was afraid to promise her too much. “There’s a chance.”

The sun slanting through the cracks of the draperies woke Hunter. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the white ceiling of the hotel he’d occupied in Hawaii but saw polished wooden rafters instead. Then the smell of damp wood and fresh linens brought everything back to him. He was in a cottage. In Mississippi. Behind the home of a woman named Madeline Barker.

For no particular reason, he reached over, retrieved his wallet from the desk and pulled out the condom that promoted his client’s strip joint. It read “Bud’s Babes…The hottest babes in town.”

Telling himself he didn’t need the temptation that condom offered, he tossed it in the trash can. But a minute later, he got up to retrieve it and shoved it back in his wallet. Then he glanced at his watch. He’d figured Madeline would come banging on his door at eight sharp. She’d said she had some of the police files on her father’s case—a testament to the kind of rule-bending that was possible when one had friends in the right places. He’d been planning to get up early to read them. But it was already ten. He hadn’t slept so late in ages. Not since he’d quit drinking.

After brushing his teeth, he ran a comb through his hair and pulled on the same clothes he’d worn yesterday—they were all he had until his luggage arrived. Then he went outside. The ground was still soggy, but the rain had passed.

The red brick walkway leading to Madeline’s back porch meandered beneath a large willow tree, next to a small pond. The yard was covered with a patchy, swirling mist, but in the light of day he could see that it was well-tended, full of vines and plants, potted and otherwise. Obviously, Madeline spent a lot of time out here. There was even a tea table and two chairs arranged under a large oak. The Confederate flag on a pole beside it made him smile.

So where was the pretty Southerner this morning? Had she overslept, too?

He didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as he located the key beneath the mat, which he pocketed when he’d opened the door, he could hear voices coming from another part of the house. Raised voices.

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Who was it?

Sophie, the cat he’d seen briefly the night before, got up from the rug in front of the sink, stretched and walked over to inspect him. Giving her a scratch behind the ears, Hunter considered going back to his room until Madeline’s visitor was gone. But then he heard his name. And finding himself the topic of conversation made it difficult to leave.

“Hunter’s an ex-cop, Kirk.”

“So? You don’t know if that makes him safe.”

“I know you have no right to drag me out of bed and start slinging orders.”

“I’m not slinging orders! I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Oh, come off it. You’re not here out of concern for me. You’re feeling threatened because I brought someone new to town.”

Hunter stiffened as he waited for Kirk’s response. This was the man she’d broken up with six weeks ago. The only man she’d ever slept with.

Hunter didn’t like him already.

“He’s in your guesthouse,” Kirk said. “That’s too close.”

When he’d been examining that condom, it had seemed pretty damn close to Hunter, too. But he was suddenly willing to argue the opposite.

“It’s no different than having a neighbor,” she retorted.

Sophie rolled onto her back so Hunter could rub her stomach.

“Yes, it is,” Kirk nearly shouted. “You live alone and you’ve got no other neighbors. That makes it very different.”

Hunter wondered whether he should present himself and say hello. Now might not be the best time. Without his luggage, he didn’t even have a razor. But he planned to talk to everyone eventually. That was what he did, how he found what he was looking for. Sometimes people held important pieces to a puzzle without realizing it. And he didn’t particularly care whether or not he impressed Kirk. The more Kirk raised his voice at Madeline, the more eager Hunter became to interrupt.

“I can look after myself,” Madeline insisted, lowering her voice.

Fortunately for Kirk, he lowered his voice, too. “Maddy, it doesn’t give the best impression, okay? Think what everyone at church will say.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just not yourself right now. He can move to the motel.”

“No. You’ve seen The Blue Ribbon. It’s a dive. He thinks we’re a bunch of rednecks as it is.”

“Did I say that?” Hunter whispered to the cat.

“Why do you care what he thinks?” Kirk asked.

Standing, Hunter crossed the kitchen and leaned against the opening that led to the living room. From there he could see Madeline in the entryway, wearing a pair of white boxers covered with red kisses and a white tank. Her disheveled hair suggested that she’d just rolled out of bed. She was also barefoot, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Hunter noticed immediately because the thin fabric of her shirt revealed more than he’d seen of a woman in two years.